“‘DEESEN.’”
“Have you finished?” asked the king.
“Yes, sire, I have finished,” groaned Deesen.
“Then fold the letter and seal it, and write the address ‘To the unmarried Maria Siegert, Yunker Street, Potsdam.’”
“Mercy, sire, mercy!” cried Deseen, springing up and throwing himself at the feet of the king. “I see that your majesty knows all—that I have been betrayed.”
“You have betrayed yourself, for to-day is the tenth time that I have called for you when you were absent. Now send your letter off, and see that your Siegert gets a room here. If, however, you are again absent when I call, I will send your beautiful Maria to Spandau, and dismiss you. Go, now, and dispatch your letter.”
Deesen hurried off, and the king looked smilingly after him for a moment, and was on the point of returning to his reading, when his attention was attracted by the approach of a carriage.
“Ah,” he murmured anxiously, “I fear that I shall be disturbed again by some cousin, who has come to rob me of my time by hypocritical professions of love.”
He looked anxiously toward the door. It was soon opened, and a servant announced Prince Henry.
The king’s countenance cleared, and he advanced to meet his brother with a bright smile. But his greeting was not returned, and the prince did not appear to see the extended hand of the king. A heavy cloud lay upon his brow—his cheeks were colorless and his lips compressed, as if he wished to suppress the angry and indignant words which his flashing eyes expressed.